Twinkle Twinkle

After the night the storm opens its eye.
The walk to the river is shorter than it was, the water much wider.

It flows through the field where the crop grows a hand span high, floods out swathes of it. It curves out through the culvert that was barely damp mud last time it was noticed. Birds had left clear prints.
Tree trunks hold in the overspill, the footprints will be gone.

Upstream is impassable: we must guess that the island, the oak dragon, the beachy flowered banks are sunk.
The sky is bruised.
Deep bruised, blue black.
Stars: I see stars, flicker, blink.


The Cranky said…
Somehow this makes me think of Trinkle Tinkle by Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane.
Geo. said…
I think flooded dragons go into memory and imagination, so they'll be recognized when met again.
Suze said…
Wow. Geo's comment in response to your bruised skies left me speechless.
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you Jacqueline, that's some good company for my words to keep :-)
Geo is perfectly correct- this comment reminds me too that water holds a memory. Oak dragon is very much part of the river and part of our imaginative involvement with life and landscape.
Wow indeed Suze :-)

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